I often wonder if people have full-blown conversations in their head like I do. Constant, random inner monologues that keep me busy when I’m sure I appear to be carrying on doing normal things like walking, typing something for work or watching TV. I think it’s safe to guess that I may have more conversations with myself than some introverts have in their life with others. I would be concerned if I wasn’t so busy being amused.
Like today. It’s snowing today which means max relaxation and snack time. So obviously I’m making fishsticks. Realizing that I have no fucking tarter sauce becomes an issue until I realize I can probably make it so problem solved. So there I am, chopping up pickles while snacking on pickles when I first think, “Jesus Christ, this pickle tastes like dirt.” Not that it stopped me from finishing the pickle. But then it reminded me that a few weeks ago when I was chopping and eating yellow, orange and green peppers, I ranked them, yellow obviously winning and green obviously losing because that too tasted like dirt. Bitter, earthy dirt, which is always the taste of the green pepper, so let’s be clear that this isn’t situational. Which then reminded me about that the time I heard Alton Brown say all peppers taste the same was complete bullshit and made his opinion on food forever worthless.
Then I remembered that ricotta cheese also tastes like dirt, which often ruins a good lasagna and then I couldn’t remember when the last time I cooked a lasagna, but maybe I would soon since I just read this blog post from Stephanie Klein about badass tomatoes and so maybe I’d order some of these exceptional and canned Jersey tomatoes and make my own sauce. But not before I’d make a greater, All Things That Taste Like Dirt list.
And then I freaked out in my head because I resolved to plant tomatoes this year so I could have my very own fresh tomatoes all.the.time and goddamnit I never remembered to look up when tomatoes need to be planted or how to even go about that and thank god my new landlords said I could plant a big garden because they are so much NICER than that fat trunchbull whore from the last house.
Then the snow out the window caught my eye and my breathing slowed back down because jesus christ you cannot plant gardens when it’s snowing so I must have plenty of time thankthefuckinglord. However, then I remembered that “how to plant tomatoes” is something that should go in the book I wish someone wrote titled, “How to for Life, the stop being a fucking moron edition.” Then it occurred to be that since I run around acting all fucking blonde all the time and therefore am forced to learn many simple and daily lessons about how to merely function in society, maybe I could write that damned book but I have two ahead of it that I never fucking work on and so no, I will not write a How To For Life book, not so much because I’m not qualified, because I am, but because I’m fucking busy and I can’t save the damned world all the time.
Which then reminded me that last night when I was drunk and explaining something or giving some words of booze induced wisdom, I thought to myself, Huh, I bet I would be a great motivational speaker. Maybe I could quit my job and be one of those hippie life coaches that teach people how to get out of their own fucking way but then I remembered that I 1. would have to stop swearing problem and fuck that. That is never going to fucking.happen and 2. I don’t want to help people I think are generally stupid 3. I hate people in general. So yeah, guess I won’t be a motivational speaker.
That whole conversation maybe lasted four minutes. I have about 80 of those a day. I have no fucking idea what it would be like to honestly be able to answer, “nothing” and mean it when someone asks you what you’re thinking about. “Dirt” is more like it.